Remember the Stars
by Sigmaropi
Summary: A backstory on some of the things that happened in Sam and Dean's childhood, up to when Sam left for college.


**Remember the Stars**

Chapter One

Stars had always been important to Dean. They were like a constant reminder that this Earth, this crappy, depressing, dying Earth, wasn't the only thing. There was something more.

The first time he'd taken Sam to see the stars, he'd been ten. It was Sam's sixth birthday, and their dad was on a hunt. He'd promised to be back for Sammy, but Dean, even at ten, had doubted it. He couldn't take the look on Sam's face as he stared at the door, waiting for his absent father. So Dean had grabbed a blanket, Sam's hand and pulled him outside. They were at one of the few secluded cabins, well stocked with food and weapons. Normally Dean hated staying in them, because they were so cut off, but tonight he was thankful. They walked for half an hour before Sam started to complain that his legs were tired. So Dean put out the blanket and made Sam lie down, facing upwards. They were out in the country, in the middle of a field, and there was so little light pollution at that time that they could see what seemed to be thousands of stars. The sky was crowded with them. They stared at them for hours, and talked, just talked. Finally, Sam fell asleep, but Dean kept looking. They spent the whole night in that field.

Just before dawn, Dean had woken up, and woken Sam up. They'd practically run back to the cabin, but their father still beat them there. He was furious with Dean for leaving, for falling asleep in such a wide, unprotected space. But for once, Dean didn't care that he'd upset his dad. It was worth it for the look on Sam's face as he turned and said to Dean, "Thanks. This is the best birthday ever." That was all Dean had needed.

Chapter Two

On Sam's next birthday, his seventh, he was sick. Dean was eleven, and left to care for the small boy alone, his dad out on a hunt yet again. Dean knew that hunting was important, he did, but sometimes it pissed him off, despite being so young. Could John Winchester not take one day away from his hunts to take care of his youngest son, on the boy's birthday no less? Apparently not, and Dean would never challenge his father, not face to face. Instead he seethed quietly, not letting it show on his face. Sammy, even at seven, had an uncanny way of knowing when someone was angry, although he usually tended to blame it on himself. And as he lay on the motel bed, half asleep, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, Dean felt angry. Angry that their father wasn't there for Sammy's birthday, angry that he wasn't there for Christmas, or for Dean's birthday. John never had enough time for his children anymore. Dean snapped out of his thoughts as his brother stirred, mumbling. "Dad?" Sam asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily and looking up.  
"Nah Sammy, dad's not here. He'll be back soon though," Even as Dean said the words, he knew they were a lie, and wanted to bite his tongue. But Sam seemed to know, and the look on his face tore Dean's heart apart. "Hey, it's fine. I'm here, right?" Sam nodded, but didn't quite look convinced. "How about this," Dean said, his last ditch effort to cheer Sam up, "You go back to sleep, and when you wake up, I'll have a surprise for you."  
Sam's face lit up, as only Dean could make it do, "Really?" He asked, his feverish gaze brightening.  
"Really," Dean replied. Sam nodded and lay back happily. Great, now what was Dean supposed to do? He had no plans for this supposed surprise he was supposed to have. He stared out the window for a few minutes before his eyes wandered upwards. Duh. Before he left the motel room he put a cold cloth on Sam's head, and made sure all the windows were locked. Locking the door behind him, he ran across the road to the strip mall.

When he returned twenty minutes later, he was glad to see that Sam was still asleep. Good, it would give him time. It took him what seemed like hours to get everything set up, but when he did, he was happy. He flopped down on the bed next to Sam and shook him awake gently. "What?" Sam mumbled, blinking.  
"Look up Sammy," Dean replied. Sam turned his head and looked up. Stuck to the ceiling were dozens of glow in the dark stars. Dean got up and ran to the wall, flipping the lights off. He had already closed all the curtains, and the stars glowed, each one a bright spot on the ceiling. He looked at them, pleased, before looking at his younger brother. The boy's face was one of total awe, and he finally ripped his look away from the stars. "You're the best big brother ever." Dean didn't think he'd ever been happier.

Chapter Three

Birthdays came and went. Sometimes John was there, but more often he wasn't. The brothers were always there for each other though. On Sam's thirteenth birthday, Dean had gotten him a cake in the shape of a star. Cheesy, sure, but Sam had laughed so hard that it didn't matter. On Dean's eighteenth, Sam had returned the favour by getting him a 3D Star Projector. It was for kids age three to five, but Dean loved it. When you turned it on, the lights would shine at the ceiling, displaying all the different stars and constellations. Since Sam's seventh birthday the brothers had been steadily learning all the different constellations, and all the important star's names. Sam had picked them up a lot quicker, because he was the faster learner, but he was also the most patient of the two, and had helped Dean learn them all too. They had worked until they were at the point where one could point out a star and the other could either name it, or the closest important star to it with barely a thought.

There were some things that even the stars couldn't fix though. Like when Sam had first been badly hurt, bad enough to warrant a hospital visit. He had been fifteen and the three Winchesters had been on a hunt, Sam's second real hunt. He'd gone through all of John's training, and his first hunt they'd killed a werewolf. This time it was a shifter. Sam knew how to kill it no problem, but he'd gotten panicked. When the shifter had turned into Dean, he couldn't think properly, couldn't figure out what he was supposed to do. The thing had knocked him around pretty good before Dean and John had found him. They'd gotten separated, and Dean blamed himself for not keeping a closer eye on his younger brother. That was his job, wasn't it? It _always_ had been.

Sam had come out of the ordeal with three broken ribs, two bruised ribs, a black eye, swollen lip, a fractured wrist and a concussion. Dean hadn't left Sam's side the entire time they'd been in the hospital. As he looked down at his younger brother's broken body, Dean felt tears well up in his eyes. He wiped them away before anyone could see. He hadn't cried in years, and he wasn't going to now. When Sam had woken up, Dean had pretended he was fine, pretended to be strong for Sammy. But he blamed himself. He always blamed himself when Sam got hurt, and not even their stars could fix that.

Chapter Four

It had taken Sam a few weeks to recover, and in that time Dean could hardly look at Sam without feeling a pang of guilt. In that time, John had reverted to his old ways of going on his hunts alone, leaving Dean to look after his younger brother. Sam had adapted to the injuries like a pro. He had learned not to take deep breaths, because the pain caused by his ribs would be almost unbearable. He'd blacked out twice when he'd forgotten, and the first time Dean had almost had a panic attack. One second Sam had been talking normally, the next he was crumpled on the ground, like a puppet with its strings cut. He had woken a minute or so later, but Dean had made him take it easy for the rest of the day, despite Sam insisting he was completely fine. Dean would lie awake at nights, listening to his brother's steady, but shallow breaths. They'd had to share a bed, because the motel only had two and they were never sure when John was going to stumble back in. It was problematic after a while, when Sam had gotten bigger and learned to sprawl. But at that time, he was still small, just a little shorter than Dean, and stayed curled in on himself, as though to protect his body from the monsters that they hunted, and that hunted them in return. When Sam was asleep, it was the only time when you could truly tell he was still a child. He looked so much older than he was when he was awake. He'd seen too much, grown up too fast. The same was true for Dean, but sometimes the older wished that he could just protect Sam from everything. Just hide him away from the world and let him be a normal kid. Course, he'd never tell him that.

When Sam had finally recovered fully, they'd started going on hunts with their dad again. It was different now though, both John and Dean were more protective of the youngest Winchester, especially Dean. On those hunts it was rare that Dean would let Sam out of his sight, no matter what. Sam knew that, he could tell, and he just wished sometimes that they would let him be. He could fight well enough, and had killed more than his fair share of monsters. Still, they worried about him. Not only was Sam the youngest, and therefore least experienced, he was also the most emotional. Although he would try to hide it, things affected him differently than they did his older brother or his dad. Dean always saw it, never had to ask if Sam was okay, he just knew. Every time Dean had ever gone to the hospital, he would wake up and the first thing he would see was Sam's face, worried, watching him. He always tried to say something, to make some stupid joke just to see Sam smile. And through it all, Sam never gave up on Dean. All he wanted was to be like his older brother, to be as tough, and as strong. Sam would never stop thinking he was less than his brother.

Chapter Five

Some days went by quicker than others, but Sam always knew he could count on Dean, and vice versa. But as time went by, it was becoming painfully obvious that Sam wasn't happy with this life. More than once he'd run away, and Dean always went almost sick with worry. But he'd always be back, or they would find him. Sam was getting more rebellious though. He'd argue with their dad at every turn, and Dean ended up being the referee, calling time outs when things escalated. Things were getting worse though, and even to Dean, it seemed like John would pick on Sam, would be harder on him than Dean. Maybe it was because Dean listened to John's orders, but sometimes Dean wondered if it was more than that.

Dean hadn't realized just how bad it was until Sam was eighteen. Dean was twenty-two, and tired of listening to Sam and his dad fighting. He'd ended up leaving, convinced that the two of them were going to be the death of him. He'd returned an hour later, and found the Impala gone. So John had left. Fine, that would give Dean time to calm Sam down. He opened the door of the motel and poked his head in, wary. More than once Sam had mistaken him for John and launched something at the door. Dean was always glad it had been him though, because if Sam had ever thrown something at John and made contact, all hell would have broken loose. This time, though, there were no flying objects. Dean was greeted by complete silence. "Sam?" He called, entering the room.  
"Yeah," The voice came from the bathroom, the door closed.  
"You okay?" Dean asked cautiously, taking off his coat and throwing it on the bed.  
There was no answer. The silence was deafening. Dean walked to the door of the bathroom and knocked, "Sam?" When he was again confronted with silence he twisted the knob. The door was unlocked and swung forwards. Dean poked his head around the door, and stared.

Sam sat on the edge of the tub, head hung. But it wasn't his posture that made Dean stare. It was the fact that his younger brother was holding a hand gun.  
"Sammy what're you doing?" He asked, walking carefully towards him.  
"I'm tired of it Dean," Sam said, looking up, "I'm tired of this life; I'm tired of doing what dad says all the time. I'm tired of it all."  
Dean shook his head, getting closer to his brother, "I know it sucks okay, I know that. But you don't have to do this, Sam. You _know _this isn't the answer."  
Sam looked conflicted for a minute, "It'd be so easy. It wouldn't even hurt."  
"You gonna leave me alone here Sammy?" Dean asked. He crouched in front of his brother and put his hand on the gun, "Sammy, no. You can't just give all this up. Remember the stars?"  
Sam looked straight into Dean's eyes at that. They hadn't talked about the stars, not for a long time.  
"The stars are important Sam. Know why? Because they remind us. They remind us that there's more than this. Alright, you and dad are all that I have. I need you Sammy."  
Sam let his hand open slightly, and Dean took the gun, sliding it across the bathroom floor, away from the two of them. Without question, he pulled his brother into a tight hug, "I'll always be here Sammy. You and me against the world, remember," Dean wasn't sure when he started crying. He only knew that in that instant, the stars had saved them both.

Chapter Six

After that, Dean had stepped in more during the fights. He'd stuck up for Sam more, but not in a way that would make John fly totally off the handle. He'd gotten good at calming them both down. But it tore at him that sometimes he could still see that look in Sam's eyes. That looked that said Sam was barely holding himself together. And it killed Dean that he couldn't do anything more. All he could do was watch. Which was why, in all reality, he wasn't surprised when Sam told them he wanted to go to college. He wasn't even surprised at his dad's response. Dean knew that half the time, his dad got so angry because he didn't want Sam to be alone. Dean didn't want him to be alone either. Hell, the kid was nearly twenty one and Dean still worried about him. But he didn't think he'd ever forgive his father for what he said. Dean could barely believe what he was hearing.  
"If you leave, you'd better stay gone!" John yelled at his youngest son.  
Sam had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and spread his free arm wide open, "Fine!" He yelled back, defiance colouring his tone, "Have it your way!"  
Dean flinched as the door slammed. He spared only a few seconds to glance at his dad before he ran out of the house after Sam. "Sammy!" He yelled. Sam was already halfway down the street, and his stride didn't slow. Dean sprinted after him, catching up and matching his stride, "Sammy what're you doing?"  
"Dean, I've told you, it's Sam," He had somehow become convince that Sammy was a kid's name, and kept insisting they call him Sam.  
"Alright, fine, Sam. What are you doing?"  
"I'm getting a life, Dean!" Sam yelled, spinning to face his brother, "I'm getting out before this life kills me. I don't want to spend another night with that man."  
Dean knew he meant it. And fine, whatever. But Sam couldn't leave. "Man, no, you don't have to leave. Look, we'll figure something out, okay? Please, Sam. Don't leave."  
Sam looked torn for a minute, "Come with me, Dean. We can both get out, you and me, remember?"  
Dean shook his head, "Sam you know I can't. I have to stay with dad."  
Sam clenched his fist, unclenched it, and clenched it again. "I know," He replied, "But I'm not coming back Dean. Not this time. And don't come looking for me. Not unless you want to stop all of this."  
"You don't mean that," Dean's voice had dropped, he was barely audible now.  
"Yes I do," Sam said, and it looked like the words broke his heart.  
"Fine," Dean said with a nod. He blinked, looking down, and Sam knew he was trying not to cry, trying not to be weak. Without a thought he dropped his bag, and for once, he was the one giving his older brother comfort.  
"I'm sorry,"

That was the last Dean saw of his brother.  
Until John went missing.


End file.
